


Escape

by Val_Creative



Series: Warlock & His Dollophead [16]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bottom Merlin, Comfort/Angst, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Public Sex, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not much can get worse than an armed bank robbery. Well, not until Arthur watches the smart-mouth teller get bloodied up with a crack of a rifle butt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> (A very special thank you to my friends on Skype who encouraged this on, even when I was whining, and The Merlin Family as well as The Warlock and His King Network on Tumblr for being a wonderfully excitable bunch ❤ ❤ ❤ )
> 
>  
> 
> Day #16: "in a public place"

*

 

Chaos erupted.

For one moment, Arthur was standing impatiently in line to exchange leftover Swiss currency into usable bank pounds—and the next, he was skidding on his ass and the balls of his heels, away from the pop of gunfire.

People screaming, fleeing. Bumping into each other in the dark.

The artificial lighting flickered out, and huge metal shields rose up from the ground, blocking out the sun from the windows and all the doors.

An emergency lock-down.

Trapped inside with several, dark-clad men with rifles. They barked out orders, to each other, to everyone else, demanding for silence. Demanding for everyone's mobiles—whatever electronics they had.

Arthur's eyes squinted and adjusted to the lack of light, and now the bloody glow of the _EXIT_ signs. He counted out six men. Six robbers and possibly thirty patrons, including the bank's manager and employees.

He knew the bank was prestigious, well-known. Kept vaults of priceless items and likely treasured gems, but hardly encountered a security breach like this. Judging by the power outage, there was no working cameras, no way for the police to know what was happening.

And with everyone's things collected in a garbage bag or two, there was no hope in reaching the outside world at this stage.

Arthur did eye a handheld radio on the leader's hip, probably to issue the ransom.

The hostages—not _people_ ; they all were no longer people but commodities of flesh—ran for their lives and pinned themselves from the center of the lobby. He watched them press themselves to each other and attempt to hold back tears. Some didn't, weeping loudly.

A man, and a woman, already dead, both shot in the head. One appeared to be an employee, and the other wearing a jogging suit.

The red glow of the signs blackened the liquid pooling around them.

"Anyone else who feels like arguing about their _rights_ —" A gunman bellowed out, sneering through his hooded mask, "—can get the next bullet _straight up their fucking ass!_ Is that understood?"

One of the tellers muttered something venomous in his direction, and Arthur winced to himself, turning away as the rifle's butt swung hard.

Idiot. Stupid, idiotic pillock. Did he _want_ to get everyone killed?

As the bank robbers settled themselves in, grouping the hostages, patrolling the lobby and ferreting out anyone hiding in the back—Arthur folded his hands together, steepling his fingers under his chin and gravely considered his options. No one would be foolish enough to join him in devising a plan to overpower their captors, not with the guns.

He couldn't be sure if the police would arrive soon enough before more triggers were pulled, to disarm the emergency security system, to break in, or to even offer a suitable compromise for the safety of everyone else.

But Arthur did need to speak to _someone_ who could listen.

The teller propped himself up against the wall, hunched over slightly and groaning softly. His ivory shirt-sleeve darkened with his blood.

Although he was only a couple feet away, Arthur practiced discretion.

He went into a slow, careful crawl to the other man, using the weight of his knees to cushion any noises and lifting his feet up. Arthur's blasted dress-shoes tended to squeak like rubber against the floors.

"You alright there, mate?" Arthur muttered, casting a glance over at the closest gunman poking around. He hadn't been noticed.

A wet nasally laugh.

"… 'sides from my face being on fire, yea, sure."

Arthur couldn't believe his nonchalance. Then again, most anyone dealt with blood loss and trauma in different, strange ways. He scooted nearer.

"You're fortunate you're not… "

No, Arthur couldn't bring himself to suggest it. Not with two lifeless bodies on the other end of the room.

He stripped off his business jacket with ease, a three-button _Dormeuil_ , bunching it up in his hands and passing it to the bleeding man.

"Let me see, that's it," Arthur said, gently lowering the man's sleeve. There was a name-tag pinned on his work shirt. He could barely make it out, but did note a fancy cursive "M" at the beginning. Arthur examined his thin face, his newly blood-crusted nose.

"Might not be fractured," he said, finally. "It could have been worse."

Another laugh, more breathy.

"This calls for a drink," M said, dryly.

"If we get out of this alive, I'll buy you the pub _and_ name it after you."

The other man raised his eyebrows high, pressing Arthur's jacket to his face, applying tender pressure to his nostrils.

"Not sure if I should be flattered or very worried."

"Both," Arthur replied, sitting back down on his right side. He flashed a smile. "I'm very conscientious about how I spend my money."

A fair-faced woman studied them curiously when M's eyes crinkled from his own silent, mirroring grin. She leaned towards Arthur.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes," he said. "And you might be?"

"Finna."

"Nice to meet you." Arthur shook her outstretched, portly hand. "I rather have done it under less dire circumstances."

M grumbled, "That's an understatement."

She looked between him and Arthur, helpless, wringing her hands.

"What do you t-think we should do?"

Arthur couldn't think of a way to answer her. Not without revealing his earlier strategy, which was becoming less and less feasible.

M gestured them closer with his empty hand.

"In the office, there's a large button under the desk. I was told during my orientation that it was created for the bank as a reverse fail-safe to emergency security protocol. It will lower the shields on the doors," he said, wiping blood on his trousers. "If I could sneak back into the office… "

Arthur shook his head. "Then you'll leave a trail behind you." He peered over at Finna who shrunk back. "I'll go," he announced, grimly.

"You _can't_."

"She's right, you'll end up like Kara if you do that," M said, looking ahead and jerking his chin in another direction. Arthur was guessing one of the bodies had been his female coworker. "I should go. I _know_ where it is."

He was completely _mad_ —that must have been what the "M" stood for.

Arthur grabbed his shoulder.

"I'm not letting you risk your life for this," he whispered furiously, pushing away the expensive jacket thrust at him.

M narrowed his eyes, an ugly, scarlet glow to his blue irises.

"And I'm not _asking_."

At the low, determined growl, Arthur stared incredulous. Every person in this building could be slaughtered together like cattle, likely was going to be, and M had the _audacity_ to fight with Arthur about who was going first.

"Were you always this—?"

" _Oi_!" One of the gunmen barged over, aiming his loaded rifle. "What the _HELL_ are you lot doing? Back against the wall with the rest!"

When no one moved, he shouted, "Are you deaf or just _stu_ —!"

M loudly spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm at him, hitting the mask.

The gunman swore, cocking the rifle at him, finger curling on the trigger.

Arthur yelled, " _No_!" flinging himself in front of a self-satisfied M. He spread out his arms, breathing hard, feeling the twin barrels to his chest.

"You really willing to _die_ for this piece of fucking _shit_?"

"Spare him, just," Arthur said, heart rapid-fast in his throat. M's scrawny knees dug into his back. "Please, I'm begging you."

Another gunman, with the radio device, walked up.

"Lower the gun and tie him up," he ordered coolly, pointing over Arthur's shoulder. "We'll find a better use for him. And _YOU_ rich man, I want you to shut it or I kill both of your little friends."

Finna seized Arthur's wrist, keeping him in place as the two robbers hauled a bloody M onto his feet, dragging him to their equipment.

"Don't," she shushed him.

In the distance, they could hear M talking casually, putting on a brave show. Grinning and mouthing off.

"Go."

Arthur frowned at her. Finna released his wrist, tossing him a severe look. "Go _now_ , boy! This is the opportunity we need!"

"You expect me to—"

"I don't _know_ you, but," she pleaded. "You have to do this. I don't want to die and I don't think you do either. You're the only hope now."

He curled a lip at her, watching her expression drop.

"If _anything_ happens to him, I'm holding you personally responsible," Arthur murmured, voice edged in malice. "Am I making myself clear?"

A fearful nod.

"Y-yes, of course."

" _Finna_." The plump, dark-haired woman stiffened as if expecting a lash, but appeared confused as Arthur's features softened in a sort of melancholy and kindness. "Take care of yourself," he said, quietly.

 

*

 

Seven robbers and twenty-eight hostages.

Arthur was surprised he made it unnoticed in the office, knowing the many eyes of the others trapped could see him. But they pretended to see nothing, even going so far in risking their lives for Arthur to distract the gunmen passing by with neutral, probing comments.

Nothing like a crisis to bring everyone together for a common goal.

He thought he had it. Arthur thought he made it, crawling on his belly to the office carpet, reaching for the underside of the table, fingers groping.

Then, he was _yanked_ away.

Arthur wrestled against the last unarmed gunman, headbutting him and then getting punched across the face. Arthur's vision spun wildly and he sank back onto the floor, tasting something like warm, sour bile.

 _The button_.

Groaning, Arthur kicked repeatedly for it. But he knew he had missed, as the gunman's arms lugged him out of the office, down the unlit hallway.

He failed.

Against the same wall, with the potted plants above, Finna sat with her hands presented out in surrender, wide-eyed at the gunman on her.

"— _getting a helicopter out of the deal—_ "

The leader gunman patted his radio absently, saying thoughtfully, "We should keep at least three hostages. Take them with us."

"And _throw them out_ of the helicopter!" One man cackled. "Teach those—"

With a small groan, Arthur found himself dumped at their feet. His vision no longer spinning about him and limbs regaining their feeling. He turned his head and the next inhale strangled itself. M laid curled to himself, tears gathered in his eyes. His blood-flecked, work trousers had been shoved down his pale thighs.

He… what was…

"Found this one here!"

Arthur had been moved forward on his knees, under the scrutiny of the bank robbers. His hands being forced together and knotted behind him.

"Have him do it." The cackling gunman nudged the leader's side, ignoring a mean glare. He egged on, "Have him _fuck_ the little ponce."

"You're a dodgy bloke, Mick."

"Need a little _entertainment_. I fucking hate the waiting. It's like they want everyone to die." He motioned with his high-powered rifle to a group of teenagers. A sudden predatory grin. "Or we can take one of the girls."

M's ruined, crimson-stained collar was seized, as he jolted upright.

Arthur watched him get roughly thrown aside, right beside Arthur. M's prick hung out of his trousers and underwear, dusky and flaccid.

The leader gunman pulled out a revolver, pressing it to the back of M's skull.

"Do it, and maybe you both can walk away with your lives."

Arthur felt like screaming at the top of his lungs, ripping out of his constraints and tearing at his hair. What the _fuck_ was happening… ?

"Do _what_?"

He started, reflexively twisting, when M's warm hands cupped his face.

"It's okay, Arthur," M whispered against his mouth, lips even warmer. " _S'okay_ , shh."

M's hands dropped to the buttons on Arthur's trousers, popping them open and he moaned, writhing as the other man bent over him, mouthing Arthur's now engorged cock and slobbering excessively around it.

It must have been only several minutes, but it seemed too brief, as M composed himself. Full lips gleaming with a layer of saliva.

" _I'd prefer it was you_ ," he murmured into the crook of Arthur's neck.

The rifle didn't move from them as M adjusted himself, kneeling over Arthur's legs, pushing his trousers further down his legs.

Leaving a shameless view of his round, pert ass.

No one said anything. Not the robbers growing interested, not the hostages averting their eyes. Not Finna swallowing a whimper.

A pencil falling would have sounded like an asteroid hitting the ceiling.

M sucked three fingers audibly into his mouth, tonguing them, reaching and pressing into himself. He pumped his hand, raggedly breathing.

He couldn't…

Dazed, Arthur bucked his hips as if to get away, but didn't manage it.

"Mm- _ _no__ ," he gasped, bound wrists struggling to free themselves.

" _Have to_."

Arthur gasped again, this time in some pain as M's hole clenched him up to the root, too tight. Too, too tight and hot. He couldn't move like this.

M let out a choked, awed sob, arms trembling. He rocked a little, involuntarily, rocked Arthur's cock inside him, muscles like a vice. The muzzle of a rifle touched Arthur's scalp, pressing harshly.

"Look at him take it," one gunman spoke up. "Just like a slut. Cock- _slut_."

Arthur wanted to knock them all out, break apart the guns. He wanted to just hold M against him, alone. Run a hand up his back. Soothe him.

But he couldn't _do_ anything, not even bloody make himself come.

And then, they were all going to die.

He jerked up into M's heat, spine relaxing. Bright sunlight— _ _wait__ _—_

With a whir of electricity, the metal shields to the bank's doors and windows lowered. Overhead lights flickering back on.

" _DROP YOUR WEAPONS_!"

Swarms of police burst in, from different hallways, through the front glass doors—that was the last thing Arthur saw before passing out.

 

*

 

"Everyone made it out—thought you should know that."

Lying back out on the ambulance cot, Arthur nodded. He apparently missed four of the robbers getting shot and being carried out.

M grinned, nose washed off and bruised to a plum-dark. "They said you'd be alright." He brushed his mouth softly to Arthur's knuckles.

"But are _you_ alright?"

"Stop, m'fine."

M— _ _Merlin__ rolled his eyes and Arthur's gut tingled pleasantly. Idiot.

"Sooo, you still gonna name a pub after me?"

 

*


End file.
